Tor believed his journey to Fallen Leaf would be fairly simple, not easy, but nothing he couldn't handle. That confidence evaporated the moment he reached Vinegrove, the small town beside Riverford, two exhausting days after crossing a river and two mountain ridges.
He had stopped to restock food and water, but word spread quickly through the market streets: a massive cyclone had torn through the Crown Peninsula, where the capital city of Embercrest stood. Now, it had turned back over the ocean, stronger than before, and was heading straight for Vinegrove.
Tor wasn't the type to worry. In his mind, a mere storm couldn't stop him. As he was preparing to leave, a shopkeeper rushed out of his stall and called, "Young man! Do you even know where you're headed?"
Tor gave him a blank look. "No?"
The shopkeeper hesitated, glancing toward the distant peak. "That mountain you're walking toward, it's cursed. That's where the legendary knight Rowen Lloyd of the First Flame defeated the Demon and Dragon King, Malakar. Before Malakar fell, he cursed the mountain itself, sealing his soul inside a crystal hidden forever."
Tor blinked. "So… you're saying I shouldn't go there because it's dangerous?"
"Exactly!" the shopkeeper cried. "You'd be mad to try!"
"Oooh, sounds like fun!" Tor grinned. "See you later!"
The shopkeeper stood speechless as Tor strolled into the woods. Above, the sun dimmed beneath a blanket of storm clouds, and thunder rolled across the hills.
Maybe if I get struck by lightning, I'll get powers, Tor thought with a laugh. He wasn't about to test the theory, but the sky seemed determined to try for him. Rain began to pour, cold and heavy on the sequoias. Then, behind him, a bolt struck a tree with a deafening crack, splitting it in two.
"Almost got powers there!" Tor shouted over the rain, still laughing as he sprinted toward the looming mountain.
After several soaked and shivering minutes, he stumbled upon a cave. Inside, the air was damp and cold. He'd taken survival classes, he knew how to build a fire, but with no dry wood or supplies, he could only sit and wait for the storm to pass.
Then, from the corner of his eye, a faint glimmer caught his attention. A narrow beam of light shone through a pile of rocks near the back wall. Curiosity flared. Tor hurried over and began digging, stone by stone, until he cleared a small opening. Squeezing through, he emerged into a narrow tunnel, and suddenly, torches along the walls burst into flame.
"Okay… not creepy at all," he muttered, stepping cautiously forward.
A few paces in, his foot pressed down on a loose stone. He dove just in time to avoid a pit of spikes that opened beneath him. More traps awaited deeper inside, swinging axes, hidden arrows, even a rolling log that nearly flattened him. But Tor pressed on, his grin never fading.
Finally, he saw light ahead. He sprinted toward it, emerging into a vast cavern lined with golden crystals. In the center stood a stone pedestal. Dust covered an ancient tablet set before it.
He brushed it clean and read aloud the words engraved there:
From stars of flame and horn of gold,
The forge of gods did heat untold.
In crimson light the blade was born,
A flame to crown the fiery horn.
Its edge could carve through sin and lie,
A sunlit wrath beneath the sky.
Only hearts that burn, yet never tire,
May wield the Lord, the blade of fire.
When night returns and courage fades,
Its spark shall wake in mortal shades.
And from the ash, through pain's desire,
Shall rise once more, the Lord of Fire.
"Oh! It's a poem!" Tor exclaimed. He squinted at the last lines, thinking aloud four a few minutes. "Horn of gold, lord of fire, night sky… hmm. I get it now, it's about the god of flames and the constellation of the ram… Bahama!"
The instant he spoke the word, the crystals blazed to life, flooding the cavern with golden light. The pedestal split open, revealing a sword.
It was magnificent, around thirty- one inches long, its edge glowing crimson with flame patterns, the dull side black as midnight. The hilt was sculpted like a burning inferno, and a single name was carved into the blade: Aries.
Tor reached out and grasped the sword. A searing heat pulsed through his body, then darkness claimed him.